Esme worked as an accountant in a modest construction firm, operating out of a nondescript office on the outskirts of London. Her salary was fairly average, and her life was pretty routine. Yet deep down, she harbored a dream of starting her own business. In the evenings, much like her colleagues, she immersed herself in finance management programs and devoured business publications, carefully crafting entrepreneurial strategies.

Then, out of the blue, Daniel entered her life. Friends of theirs invited them to a celebration in the countryside. He worked as a manager at a car dealership, earning a decent wage and charming her with his attentiveness. They went on dates, exchanged flowers, and watched films together on weekends. A year later, they tied the knot.

The early days were blissful. Esme continued to grow in her career while saving funds for her own venture. Daniel, however, dismissed her aspirations, saying, “Let her play businesswoman; what’s important is she cooks on time.”

Then things took a turn at the car dealership. Sales dropped significantly, and salaries were cut. Daniel began coming home discontented and would flare up over minor issues. Esme paid it no mind, especially since she had just been promoted to head of the finance department, earning twice as much as Daniel. This, of course, demoralized him.

Every evening turned into a silent challenge. Daniel would sit in the living room with his phone, intentionally ignoring her. If she tried to discuss her work achievements, he’d frown and step out for a smoke. When she upgraded her old laptop to a modern one, he slammed the front door and went off to meet his mates. “Wasting your finances?” he muttered the next morning. “These are my finances, Daniel. I earned them,” she finally replied. He hurled a cup into the sink and left for work.

The final straw came when there was an invitation to a corporate event. “Dress code: festive. Attendance mandatory, with spouses,” read the memo from HR. Esme tried to decline, sensing trouble ahead. But Tanya was determined: “You’re a company representative now, love. You need to match that.”

The corporate event was held at a cozy restaurant in Clerkenwell. The company had rented out the entire second floor—about thirty people, not counting partners. Esme felt anxious; this would be her first gala as head of finance. She opted for a simple black dress and flats—she had never aspired to stand out.

Throughout the journey, Daniel grumbled. First about traffic, then about parking, and finally that his tie was too tight. Esme remained silent; she had grown accustomed to his moods over recent months. Since the issues started at the dealership, he had become increasingly irritable and wound up.

The evening kicked off on a positive note. The managing director, Michael, delivered a speech about the company’s achievements, presenting awards to outstanding employees. Esme received a special acknowledgment for implementing a new financial tracking system that saved the company millions.

“And now I’d like to raise a toast to our new finance manager,” Michael raised his glass. “Esme joined us three years ago as a junior accountant, but her hard work, intelligence, and determination proved she deserved more. Congratulations on your promotion and the new salary!” he winked.

Everyone applauded. The chief accountant, Tanya, gave her a hug, whispering, “You deserve it, love.” Her colleagues smiled genuinely—Esme was valued in the team.

Then someone asked, “What’s the new salary for a finance manager?”

Michael, red-faced from drinks, waved his hand dismissively, “It’s impressive! Now our Esme earns monthly what some make in six months.”

Daniel, who had been quietly chewing on some snacks, suddenly straightened up, his face flushing—not from embarrassment but rage.

“What’s there to celebrate?” he shouted, ensuring everyone heard. “So what if she moves papers around? I’m the one who works hard at the dealership…”

“Darling, maybe you should chill?” Esme gently touched his sleeve.

“Chill?!” he shook off her hand. “Why does everyone fawn over her?”

Esme noticed a muscle twitch on his cheek—a sure sign a scene was brewing, just like back when he learned he was downgraded.

“Do you think she’s special?” Daniel spat, his tone dripping with venom. “She’s just good at buttering up the management! I toil every day, selling cars, battling clients…”

“Daniel, please,” Esme tried to intervene.

“What about me?” he turned suddenly towards her. “Is that what hurts your eyes? You sat in your comfy office, tapping away on your keyboard—now you’re a star! And I’m just a nobody? Nothing?”

Feeling the heat of embarrassment wash over her from colleagues at the table, she knew that Daniel couldn’t hold back any longer:

“Maybe I should just not work at all, huh? Ha! Amusing! I’ve got a wife—someone to wipe my feet on!” The clatter of a plate hitting the table echoed like a gunshot. Tanya went pale. Michael frowned. Then, Darnell—the young programmer known for his jokes in the breakroom—suddenly stood up.

“You should apologize, mate.”

Daniel reddened further: “To who? To her?” he jabbed a finger toward Esme. “She wouldn’t be anything without me! I taught her everything!”

“What did you teach her, Daniel?” Esme spoke softly, yet somehow everyone fell silent to hear her. “How to stay quiet when it hurts? How to smile when it feels wrong? How to pretend that everything is okay?”

She stood up, straightened her dress:

“Thank you. I genuinely mean it. You’ve taught me a lot. For instance, that some men need a wife, not a partner—just someone to wipe their feet on.” She turned and walked to the exit. Behind her, she heard a commotion—seemed Darnell finally had enough and struck Daniel. But she didn’t look back.

In the taxi, she held back her tears, gazing out at the night skyline of London, contemplating how relieved she was that she hadn’t had children with him. How right she had been to stand her ground and keep working. How crucial it was to hear the words—“wipe their feet”—to finally wake up and stop pretending.

Esme awakened at six the next morning. Her head ached not from alcohol but from her thoughts. Daniel still dozed on the couch, reeking of booze. On the coffee table sat an empty whiskey bottle and an overturned frame of their wedding photo.

She fetched four large trash bags from the cupboard and began packing up his things.

At nine, someone knocked at the door. Daniel stirred on the couch. “What’s… happening?” His disheveled face was utterly puzzled. “Changing the locks,” Esme answered calmly as she opened the door for the locksmith.

“Why?” he asked.

“So you don’t come back here.”

He shot upright: “Are you serious? Because of last night? I just had a bit too much!”

“No, Daniel. Not just because of last night. Your things are outside. I’ve put the paperwork in the side pocket of your bag. You can leave the keys here.”

As the locksmith worked on the lock, Daniel dressed silently. At the door, he turned around: “You’ll regret this.”

“Already don’t,” Esme replied.

The divorce was swift and quiet. Esme fully immersed herself in work. Daniel showed up unexpectedly one day at the office:

“Listen, I’ve got something to discuss… I was let go. Any chance you could take me back? I mean, I was your…”

“Ex-husband?” Esme looked up from her laptop. “Sorry, but we only have women in our team. Company policy.” He lingered at the door for a moment:

“You know, I acted rashly back then. You’ve done brilliantly, accomplished so much…”

“Thanks,” she smiled. “Now, please close the door. And you can send your resume to HR; they reply to everyone.”

Her phone rang—it was her younger sister:

“Es, you won’t believe it! I got the job! I’m a finance manager now too!”

“Congrats, love!” Esme beamed. “Get ready; there’s a lot of work ahead.”

“I’ll manage! I have you to guide me through it all.”

“I will,” she glanced at a childhood photo of them on her desk. “Just remember: don’t ever let anyone call you a doormat.”

Laughter echoed through the line: “Oh, you’ll surely teach that!” Then she said, “What if we teamed up for something? Our own business?”

“Maybe,” Esme grabbed her bag. “Come over this weekend; we’ll talk.”

She left the office and headed to the tube. People bustled past—tired, frowning, each with their own story. Esme knew that among them were those just like her—those who dared to start anew, who believed in themselves, who learned how to say “no.”

Once home, she immediately slipped off her shoes, clicked the kettle on, and opened her laptop. She drafted a plan for a new company—one in partnership with her sister. Something simple yet needed, without pretentiousness or showiness. How about accounting workshops for budding entrepreneurs? Or consultations for women planning to launch their own businesses?

Outside, rain fell. Esme wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and smiled at her thoughts. Tomorrow would be a new day. And it would definitely be better than the last.